


The Heart of the Matter : A Collection

by dearly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearly/pseuds/dearly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A home for shorter fics originally posted on my Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For the record

“Molly–”

“It’s okay, Sherlock. I know.”

“I just–”

“It’s okay, _really_.”

A look of relief flooded his face. “Okay, well that’s…good. I’ll just–”

He made it halfway to the lab door before he suddenly stopped in his tracks and spun around on his heels. “Wait, how did  _you_  know before  _I_ even knew?”

“I know because as soon as you got off the plane John told me the first thing you said was that they were all going to Barts. I know because when you came flying in here that day you hugged me before you even realized what you were doing. I know because every time you’ve looked at me since I've seen it in your eyes.” She paused. “I think it’s not always about big romantic gestures or saying those three little words. Most of the time it’s about looking at the other person and just knowing that what you’re feeling is what they’re feeling too.”

“Oh.”

He walked slowly towards the door as he pondered over her words before turning back once more. “How about dinner? Tonight?” 

Her heart fluttered at the surprise offer. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed softly, nervously jamming his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you tonight then.” 

She turned her focus back to the microscope while trying to hide a smile when, not a minute later, his head popped back in the door.

“Though for the record I do, in fact, love you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lianne La Havas for the inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNLkD8QEnAM.


	2. Friday I'm in love

_Tonight. The cemetery. You know where._

The note that had mysteriously appeared on her desk while she was at lunch would have been unusual if weren’t for the familiar slanted handwriting.

He was here. 

It had been exactly four months and seventeen days since she’d last seen him. Not that she was counting.

She’d had no news since that day. Nothing. Mycroft had been infuriatingly lacking in information on his whereabouts.

_And now…_

 

* * *

 

As soon as the clock hit six, she flew out the doors of the hospital and ran to the Tube.

The noise of the other Friday night commuters was jarring with her mind spinning and nerves on edge so she put in her earbuds and hit shuffle. As the first notes of the song started to play, she smiled to herself and closed her eyes.

 _I don’t care if Monday’s blue_  
_Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too_  
_Thursday I don’t care about you_  
_It’s Friday I’m in love_

 

* * *

 

The sun was just dipping below the skyline as she walked into the deserted cemetery.

In the dim autumn light, she could just barely make out a dark form in the distance. As she approached, his features became clearer. He was sitting beneath the tree near his headstone. A smile crept onto face as she approached brightening his otherwise serious countenance.

“Must be strange to sit next to your own grave,” she said, pulling the earbuds out of her ears and returning his smile.

“It feels oddly powerful, like I’ve beaten death.”

She sat on the ground next to him and leaned against the tree. They were both quiet as they watched the last bit of color fade from the sky. 

“You miss this?” she asked quietly. “London, I mean?”

“Yes,” he said clearing his throat, “but I didn’t come back because of the city.”

She swallowed. “Are you staying long?”

He shook his head. “I’m leaving right away. Right after…this.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence again for some time before he turned towards her and gestured to her phone. “What were you listening to just now?”

Wordlessly she handed him an earbud, keeping one for herself, and together they listened, neither caring about another thing in the world. Just for a moment. 

 _Dressed up to the eyes_  
_It’s a wonderful surprise_  
_To see your shoes and your spirits rise_  
_Throwing out your frown_  
_And just smiling at the sound_  
_And as sleek as a shriek_  
_Spinning round and round_  
_Always take a big bite_  
_It’s such a gorgeous sight_  
_To see you in the middle of the night_  
_You can never get enough_  
_Enough of this stuff_  
_It’s Friday_  
_I’m in love_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to this cover: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJwTSTlpsak, but you can’t beat the original: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wa2nLEhUcZ0.


	3. Bad day

“I hate everyone,” Molly announced as she burst through the flat door.

“So bad day was it?” Sherlock asked looking up from his laptop though he already had known the answer by the sound of her heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” she sighed heavily as she flung her coat onto a nearby chair and unwound the scarf from her neck. “I spent more time dealing with other people’s problems and fixing mistakes than I did on my own work. Meanwhile I have a stack of paperwork piling up on my desk and a research paper deadline that is fast approaching. I finally had to escape to the morgue in the afternoon just so I could breathe and deal with people who weren’t incompetent.”

“The only reason being that they are deceased,” he said catching her drift.

“Funny how that works,” she quietly murmured as she fell into his lap and rested her head on his shoulder. 

He could feel her pulse racing against his chest, beating out-of-rhythm against his own. He drew his arms around her shoulders and brushed away a few strands of hair that had escaped from its ponytail.

“I hope you weren’t including me in ‘everyone’.” 

“No. Everyone  _but_  you. Somehow you always manage to be completely wonderful.”

“Good, because I hate to break it to you, Molly, but besides you and me, people are complete idiots.”

“Absolute  _morons_.”

The tension in her muscles relaxed and her pulse slowed so that it now synced with his. One of the things he had quickly learned was how good it felt to make Molly happy.

“Shall we order some takeaway and forget about the rest of humankind for tonight?”

She raised her head with the first smile on her face he’d seen that day and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I always knew we would be good together.”


	4. John figures it out

“Morning, Sherlock,” John said, strolling into the morgue. “Got your text. Another victim of those Strand murders?”

Sherlock nodded and began tapping his fingers on the table impatiently. “Barrister found dead in his home with the same markings on his forearms as the two other bodies, or so Lestrade tells me. I think it safe to say that it relates to our other cases, but I need to see the body to make sure.”

As John walked towards Sherlock, something stopped him in his tracks. He breathed in deeply. There was a strange scent in the air, slightly floral and sweet, the very opposite of what one expected to smell in a morgue. He was about to comment on it when he suddenly realized  _it was coming from Sherlock_. 

“Are you…I mean do you have…” he began, eyeing Sherlock strangely.

“Hm?” Sherlock muttered distractedly as he watched the door.

John shook his head. “Forget it.” The last thing he wanted to discuss with Sherlock at the moment was his experiments with new kinds of soaps or whatever reason it may be.

Luckily, Molly burst through the door saving him from having to explore the topic further.

“Okay you two, you’re here for Mr. Sanderson, right?” she asked looking at her clipboard.

Sherlock nodded. “Correct.”

“Let’s fetch him them, shall we?” 

As Molly walked by him to retrieve the body, John noticed the most unusual thing. It was the floral scent, the  _same_  one. 

Just as he was about to remark on the coincidence, he noticed Sherlock looking at Molly.  _Differently._

She smiled back at Sherlock, her eyes lingering.

Oh.

 _ **Oh**_.

He studied them both now, closely. 

It was clearly obvious. They might have been trying to hide it before but now they were failing. 

Mary had made a comment the other night about the two of them, but John had dismissed it. No way, not  _them_.

But here was proof that she’d been correct.

He decided to test it, just to make sure.

“So tell me, Sherlock, why didn’t you go to view the body at the crime scene last night when Lestrade called?”

Sherlock’s eyes flickered over at him. “I was busy.”

“Oh?”

“Something came up,” he said quickly.

“Right. Of course.”

Sherlock turned back to Molly and John smirked to himself. He’d let them have their secret for now, but if Sherlock thought he could keep coming up with reasonable excuses for why he was now showering at Molly’s, he was in for a surprise.


	5. Texts from Dartmoor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on one of my favorite headcanons for The Hounds of Baskerville: http://gaelitabis.tumblr.com/post/91168322689/this-screencap-comes-from-thob-we-see-sherlock-in

_Molly, I’m going to Dartmoor for a few days. Don’t throw out those bacterial specimens you were saving for me! I’ll need them when I get back. -SH_

**_Dartmoor? It’s beautiful there! I went camping there with some friends in uni. Is it for a case? -MH_ **

**_And don’t worry your bacteria is (are?) safe with me. -MH_ **

_Yes, it’s for a case. Have to find a big dog with glowing eyes. - SH_

**_Does this have to do with Baskerville? I saw something about that on the news. Sounds spooky. Keep me updated. - MH_ **

_Don’t tell me you believe in this foolishness too, Molly! I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for what’s going on. Getting on the train now but I’ll e-mail you the details when we arrive. Might need your assistance later. - SH_

 

* * *

 

_From: sholmes@thescienceofdeduction.co.uk_

_To: molly.hooper@barts.nhs.uk_

_Subject: Baskerville Case_

_Dear Molly,_

_Mobile reception is spotty but here are the facts of the case…_

 

* * *

 

**_Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson just called me in a panic! Why didn’t you answer her calls? She said she found some bloody clothes on your bedroom floor. Literally bloody clothes! -MH_ **

_This is why I don’t answer her calls. Panic over a bit of blood. And what was she doing in my bedroom? If she insists on snooping could you ask her to send them out for dry cleaning? By the way, the pig was already dead. -SH_

**_I’m not even going to ask. - MH_ **

 

* * *

 

_**ringing**_

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Hudson? It’s Molly. I was able to reach Sherlock. He said not to worry it was only for a case, something involving a pig that he assured me was already dead.”

“So that’s what he was up to. I knew something was up when I saw that harpoon.”

“He also asked if you could pretty please send out his clothes for dry cleaning. He would greatly appreciate it.”

“Don’t cover for him, dear. I know he would never be that polite, but thank you for trying.”

“Would you mind if I stop by? I need to drop something off at his flat. I don’t think I’ve seen you since Christmas.”

“Oh, that would be lovely! It’s awfully quiet around here when the boys are gone. I’ll put the kettle on.”

_**muffled noise**_

“Hello? Molly?”

“Sorry about that. Nearly dropped my mobile in this body cavity. It's…er…well let’s just say I should probably go clean it off.”

“Oh dear!”

“I’ll be over as soon as I’m finished here.”

“All right, love. See you soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_Stopped by Baker Street to visit Mrs. Hudson and dropped off your specimens. And just because I am a nice person I threw in a diseased lung as well. You now have a fully stocked fridge…of non-food items at least. You really should consider getting a separate fridge. - MH_ **

_Excellent. Mrs. Hudson would probably agree with you though I prefer it as is. I don’t know how you willingly spend time with that woman. - SH_

**_You love her and you know it. By the way, why is there a Cluedo board speared to your wall? - MH_ **

_It deserved it. Bloody rules. - SH_

 

* * *

 

_**beep**_

_You have two new messages. First message._

“Molly? Molly, are you there? I…”

_**click**_

_Second message._

“You appear to be asleep. Right. Um. Just…ignore this.”

_**click**_

_End of messages._

 

* * *

 

**_I tried calling you back this morning and you didn’t answer. What’s wrong? - MH_ **

_Nothing. Just had an unusual experience last night. I think I might have been drugged. Going to investigate it today. - SH_

**_An unusual experience? What happened? John texted me last night saying you’d seen something and seemed out of sorts. -MH_ **

_I think someone must have slipped something into the sugar I used in my coffee. - SH_

**_Did you call me because you were afraid? Fear is a normal thing, Sherlock. Everyone experiences it. - MH_ **

**_But you are welcome to call me anytime. -MH_ **

_Afraid? Me? Molly, do you not know me at all? No, I’m positive it was drugs. -SH_

**_Whatever you say. -MH_ **

 

* * *

 

_Why did you send Lestrade? I have the case under control. -SH_

_Sorry, wrong MH. That was meant for Mycroft. I should fix my contacts to make that clearer. - SH_

**_I figured. Greg is there now? -MH_ **

_Yes. He had to stick his nose in, of course. - SH_

_Saw me texting you. He says quote ‘hi’ end quote. Thrilling. -SH_

**_Tell him I say hello back. -MH_ **

_I will do no such thing. - SH_

**_You’re impossible. -MH_ **

_I take that as a compliment. -SH_

 

* * *

 

_The labs at Baskerville are awful. -SH_

**_Probably because I’m not there to help. -MH_ **

_True. John and Dr. Stapleton have been rather useless. -SH_

_Apparently it is not the sugar in the coffee. Damn. -SH_

_Do you know anything about Project H.O.U.N.D.? -SH_

**_I don’t think so. What is it? -MH_ **

**_Sherlock? -MH_ **

 

* * *

 

Two Hours Later:

 _Case is solved. Project H.O.U.N.D. as it turns out was a group that created a hallucinogenic drug in the 80s for the purposes of chemical warfare and such. So it_ was _drugs. -SH_

**_They didn’t teach us about that one in med school. -MH_ **

_It was top-secret government information. I don’t expect anyone knew about it except (the now deceased) Dr. Frankland here at Baskerville who was part of the original project and was trying to drive Henry Knight out of his mind. The drug was being pumped into the air, which is how it got into our systems. - SH_

**_What happened with the dog with glowing eyes? -MH_ **

_It was just a dog. And it’s dead. -SH_

**_Oh no. I mean I’m more of a cat person, but still… -MH_ **

_You and your cats. - SH_

_I will be home tomorrow. Could you tell Mrs. H? - SH_

**_Ok, but you really need to start calling her yourself. She worries. - MH_ **

 

* * *

 

Two months later:

**_You’re on the cover of every newspaper. Mr. Reichenbach Hero! - MH_ **

_Kill me. - SH_

**_But then how could I tease you about it. - MH_ **

_Speaking of which, any interesting corpses at Bart’s? In need of a distraction. - SH_

**_Just got in a fresh one a few minutes ago. Appears to be natural causes though. - MH_ **

_I’ll take anything at this point. Be there soon. - SH_

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later:

_Seems your ex has been a little naughty. - SH_

**_Oh my God. I just saw the news. How did he break into all those places? - MH_ **

_Moriarty can apparently get into anywhere he wants. I’ll get to see him when I testify in court. Shall I give him any messages? - SH_

**_I hope I never set eyes on him again. I can’t believe he sat on my couch! We watched Glee! He petted Toby! - MH_ **

_I might give up dating for the time being, Molly. - SH_

**_Toby ran under my bed that night. Maybe he knew something. - MH_ **

_Yes, I’m sure cats can tell when visitors are criminal masterminds. - SH_

**_I’m serious! - MH_ **

**_Now I don’t want to go home. -MH_ **

_He’s in police custody. - SH_

**_I know. It just seems weird that he would get caught on purpose. It creeps me out. - MH_ **

_Come over to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson was in a baking mood today and now our table is full. There’s no room for my microscope. - SH_

**_I hate to intrude… - MH_ **

_Molly, don’t make me drag all my science equipment to your flat! - SH_

**_Okay, okay. Be there soon. -MH_ **

 

* * *

 

_Sorry again about that in the lab today. I owe you some crisps. - SH_

 

* * *

 

Hours later:

_I’m heading up to the roof now. This will be the last message you’ll see from me in a while. If I don’t get a chance to tell you later I just want you to know that whatever happens…thank you, Molly Hooper. For everything. - SH_

 

* * *

 

 

**_My hands are still shaking. I know you’ve probably made it out of the country by now but I just need to talk to you one last time. What I wrote on your Christmas present was true, I love you and probably always will. I don’t know if it matters to you but it does to me and I just need you to know. Be safe and come home soon. -MH_ **

_***ERROR: Invalid number. Message unable to send.***_


	6. Blue Christmas

He lowered the binoculars with a frustrated sigh. They wouldn’t be coming tonight. Not on Christmas. Even criminals took the day off to spend with their families. Mycroft hadn’t been able to get enough intel on the time of the meeting, only the location, but something told him that he better be prepared for a long wait. Meanwhile, his brother was likely lounging in front of a roaring fire, a glass of scotch in his hand and the satisfaction of being able to spend the day alone, if their parents hadn’t guilt tripped him into a visit that is.

The wind whipped around the roof of the abandoned factory where he was perched in wait. _Bloody hell_ it was freezing. Leave it to Mycroft to have him do all the dirty work. He adjusted his scarf tighter around his neck and pulled down his cap to cover his already frozen ears. 

Stealthily he made his way along the edge of roof and found an alcove that still had a clear view of the pavement below but was slightly better shielded from the cold. Feeling able to relax for the first time in days, he leaned against the brick wall and looked up. The endless dark sky stretched out above him with a dazzling array of stars that could never be seen in London.

 _London_. He imagined all his friends at their various parties and gatherings that evening. John likely wouldn’t be feeling much of a desire to celebrate the holiday this year, nor Mrs. Hudson for that matter. Lestrade would be probably be trying to drink away his feelings with the rest of the Met crew who didn’t have families to go home to. Molly would be...

 _Molly_. What would Molly be doing? At least the others thought he was dead and had had a few months to begin to move on with their lives.

Molly was stuck with the burden of his secret.

It was only a year ago that he’d become aware of his strong attachment to the pathologist. And it had unfortunately come at the most inopportune time as he’d managed to insult her only moments before.

Stupid fool, he was.

He cared for Molly - deeply - and had tried to make that clear before he’d left.  If there was one person he would give anything to speak with at that very moment, even just to wish a happy holiday, it was her.

Instead he could only look up at the nearly-full moon and imagine everything he would say to her if he had such an opportunity. Perhaps one day he would.

 _Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper_ , he whispered finally, the words visible in the cold for a brief moment before dissipating in the night sky.

 

* * *

 

The warmth of the room from the crush of people had become nearly suffocating. She needed air, space, somewhere where she could hear her own thoughts.

“I’ll just be a moment,” she yelled out to Meena over the pounding music and quickly headed to retrieve her coat before her friend could argue.

The cold night air that hit her as she stepped through the door provided instant relief. Besides a few smokers talking quietly near the building, the street was silent as everyone was tucked away in their flats for the night. Without a destination in mind, she started walking along the pavement enjoying the quiet and the chance to stretch her legs. A strange restlessness had overtaken her from the moment she’d woken up that morning, _Christmas_ morning. 

Thankfully she hadn’t had to spend it alone this year. Meena had decided to throw a party for everyone who hadn’t been able to make it home due to work or who didn’t have anyone else to spend the holiday with. Good cheer was in the air and the alcohol was plentiful. It wasn’t the worst way to spend a Christmas.

But she still felt like something was missing. Or honestly  _someone_. Sherlock - who was currently busy hunting down a network of criminals in some God-forsaken place and spending Christmas all alone.

It wasn’t like the Christmas they’d spent together had been great, but she knew that he’d changed that night. She’d seen it in his eyes when he was apologizing to her. 

Her heels clicked along the pavement as she hurried along. It was getting colder and she’d left her mittens and scarf behind, but something kept her moving forward. When she found herself in front of the sign, she laughed to herself. Subconsciously she’d been heading towards the gardens around the block from Barts where she often brought her lunch on nice days. On more than one occasion Sherlock had accompanied her there as he rambled about the details of whatever case he happened to be working on. Once or twice she’d found him waiting for her there when he needed help with some urgent lab work. They even had a special bench under an oak tree where they always sat and talked.

Not surprisingly it was completely empty that night. She wound around the pathways until she found herself at their bench and sat down on the cold damp wood with a sigh. 

The moon was nearly full and shown brightly through the bare tree branches. She gazed up at the sky and tried to think of everything she would say to him if he were sitting right next to her at that moment. Would she have that chance again?

 _Merry Christmas, Sherlock_ , she said softly followed by a silent wish for his safety before she stood and headed back.


	7. A slight interruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny (loosely based) Poldark AU

“Mr. Holmes?” she asked at the closed door, tea tray in hand. When no answer came, she knocked hesitantly before turning the knob and stepping into the study. “Mr. Holmes, are you here?”

He was not and most likely had headed out for his daily trip to check on the family mines.

It was the first time she found herself alone in the room. Mrs. Hudson had warned her against snooping claiming that Mr. Holmes strictly forbade it, but Molly was feeling bold and her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. 

After setting the tray down on his cluttered desk, she wandered about the room and was filled with a sense of awe at his collections of insects in glass displays, carefully detailed botanical drawings, and bookcases crammed with volumes on every topic of science imaginable. There was even a human skull sitting on the mantle. She carefully lifted it up and turned it over gently in her hands wondering how one acquired such a item. He seemed to have particular fascinations with the natural world as well as the study of medicine. This realization thrilled her as it was an interest they both shared.

Her father had been the town doctor and when she was little she would often accompany him on his visits, assisting him as needed. But he had died suddenly leaving Molly in the care of her drunken uncle. It had left a gaping hole in her heart. Not only was her loving father taken from her, but so too was her newfound passion for tending to the sick. In addition, she was forced to live with a man who did nothing but drink and yell curses at her. She had never been more miserable. When Mr. Holmes had offered her the position as kitchen maid, she had jumped at the chance, eager to get away from her uncle’s ranting and raving. At the Holmes farm, she had found a place of sanctuary and a man who treated her as an equal and allowed her to live with a sense of freedom.

She was so enthralled by the objects in his study that she didn’t hear him enter the house until he was standing right behind her clearing his throat.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

He waved her off. “It’s fine. I really just meant to keep out Mrs. Hudson. She was always rearranging my desk when I told her not to. She insists she’s not my housekeeper even though she clearly likes to manage all my affairs.”

He smiled at Molly causing the book in her hands to fall to the floor.

“I’m sorry-”

“Allow me-”

They both reached down to retrieve it at the exact same moment causing their arms to collide. Molly was thrown slightly off balance by the contact, but Sherlock grabbed her shoulders, steadying her before helping her to her feet.

“Thank you.”

But he didn’t remove his hands from her and instead began to trace the neckline of her dress with his finger. There was a heavy silence as Molly tried to control her breathing while feeling his touch on her skin.

“You know what they’re saying about us - the rumours in the village,” he said in a low, hoarse whisper.

She dared not move fearing that she’d break the spell. Instead, she could only stare into his eyes which had turned dark with desire. 

But just when she thought he was about to continue a knock sounded at the front door forcing them to break apart.

Sherlock’s friend, and one of the new village doctors, John Watson, burst through the entrance of the study. His face was bright red and perspiring and he struggled for breath.

“It’s Mary. She’s in labour and the baby is breech. Dr. Perry is away from the village. I would normally do it myself but I–I need an assistant. Just to be safe.” His worried eyes revealed his desperation.

After briefly considering his options, Sherlock turned to Molly. “You have some experience with this, do you not?”

She had told him about her father and the visits she had spent caring for the sick and setting broken bones. There had been a few births too but…

“Only a little.”

“Do you think you could assist Dr. Watson with his wife?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered with a sudden confidence.  _Where had that come from?_

“Then it’s settled. John, ride on ahead. We will follow shortly.”

John nodded looking relieved and left hastily. 

Sherlock shouted instructions to Mrs. Hudson for managing things while they were gone and then they too were out the door.

After handing Molly the reins to his horse Blackbeard, he gently, but with a strong grip, lifted her onto the animal. In one graceful motion, he stepped into the stirrup and threw his leg over the side of the horse, settling into the saddle behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he took the reins in his hands and they set off. 

Though her mind should have been on the task at hand, she couldn’t help but savor the feeling of his body against hers and wonder what might have happened had John not interrupted.


	8. Something you already know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Challenged myself to write a fic inspired by the first song that came up on shuffle.
> 
> The song was [Breathe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOG0lrXbFuI) by Laura Marling and the story is a Unilock AU.

He looked so pathetic standing out in the rain with his dark curls plastered to his forehead and a limp cigarette dangling from his fingers. 

He knew she’d give in eventually. He was just waiting for her to make the first move. 

She dropped her hand letting the curtain fall back across the window. It was useless being furtive - he’d already seen her watching no doubt. 

With a frustrated exhale, she walked to the door angrily throwing it open for him and watched as he casually ground the cigarette with the heel of his trainer and walked towards the flat with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

She folded her arms and stared at him once he entered. He wouldn’t, or _couldn’t_ , make eye contact.

With a shake of her head, she led him to her flat and as soon as the door was shut behind them unleashed her anger.

“Don’t ever go off like that again. I didn’t know where you were. For _five days_. You finally get clean and then you just disappear?”

“It wasn’t like that. I just needed…space.”

“ _You_? _Needed space_?” If she wasn’t so furious, she would’ve launched into a fit of laughter.

“It was all happening so fast,” he stammered before finally looking in her eyes for the first time. “I’m sorry. _Really_.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you this time?”

“I’m sorry, Molly. _Honestly_. I just - panicked. I was miserable the whole time I was gone if it makes you feel any better. It won’t happen again.” The innocence in his eyes combined with his soaked hair and clothes cooled her fury. She felt her fists unclench at her sides as she listened.

“You can’t say you love me and then run off.”

“I know. Now I do. I’m new to all this remember.”

“Okay…okay. I mean, I’m still mad at you, but _okay_.”

“Can I…stay?”

She hesitated. “I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

“Please. I’ve missed you. I won’t leave this time. Promise.”

She took in a deep breath as she considered for a moment before nodding her head slowly.

In all truth there was nothing more she wanted then to have him curled up next to her, especially since she thought she’d lost him for good.

Waking the next morning, she found the bed empty, but just as the sinking feeling started to return, he walked into the bedroom with two mugs of steaming coffee. 

He carefully handed her a mug and laid back down next to her. 

“I thought you’d left again,” she admitted sheepishly as she sipped the hot drink.

He crossed his long legs looking all too comfortable - not to mention stunningly gorgeous - in her bed and gave her a mischievous grin. “Nah. I like it here. I think I’ll stay this time - if you don’t mind.”

“Great because now it’s mine turn to go.” She threw off the covers as he groaned in protest and quickly got dressed in the jumper and skirt that lay on the floor. Before leaving the room she went back to the bed and kissed the side of his face until his nose wrinkled. “I’ll see you after class.”

He was waiting for her outside when she arrived back that evening. The rain had finally stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was the last one in my archives. Guess I better start writing again...
> 
> In the meantime you can always find me at my [tumblr](http://consulting-pathologist.tumblr.com/).


	9. Shelter from the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sherlolly Week 2016.
> 
> The prompt for Day 1 Non-Canon: Caught in the rain.
> 
> Takes place post-TAB. TW: drugs mention.

 Naturally the rain began to fall as soon as he set foot on the pavement. But what had once never failed to annoy him, tonight he found he didn’t quite mind. In fact its presence was almost reassuring. Each cold drop that hit his face served as a reminder that he was still alive, still in London, and still had time to change.

He’d waited until he’d heard John’s snores sounding from the couch before quietly slipping on his coat and heading out into the damp chill. Mary had already left with Mycroft earlier in the evening to discuss the next steps in their plans for catching the Moriarty imposter so he’d only had to wait for his friend to fall asleep before making his escape.

Since their arrival at Baker Street straight from the airport, the four of them had discussed how Moriarty’s face had managed to appear on every television screen in the country and who was the likely culprit behind it. At first Sherlock had been engaged with the conversation, providing them with his theory about Moran’s involvement but once they’d turned their focus toward catching those responsible he’d lost interest and instead found himself focused on something, namely _someone_ , completely different.

Even though he’d assured them all that he was once again clear-headed and sober after the incident on the plane, he knew it would be some time before they would trust him again.

He hadn’t meant to take it as far as he did. He’d just wanted to take the edge off before his exile, but the fact that it had been years since he’d last used caused him to miscalculate the amount and nearly overdose.

Waking up with that realization had shaken him to his core. The idea that he’d come so close to -

It was useless trying to explain this to his closest friends and overprotective brother. They could only see the outcome of his actions and their worry was evident. And considering what he’d done, they were justified.

But there was someone that he needed more right now. Someone else that he needed to apologize to. _Again_.

It was a long walk to her flat but he didn’t feel like sitting in a cab. Despite the rain, he took his time and studied the buildings that he had thought he might never see again. It was easy to see now how people could get sentimental about a place. A person didn’t really appreciate what they had until it was taken away.

A half an hour later he found himself standing in front of her building. A puddle of water pooled at his feet as he pressed the button on the intercom and waited.

Even though it was sometime after midnight, she answered quickly and her voice lacked any traces of sleep. She’d still been awake.

When he identified himself, there was a brief pause before she buzzed him through.

She was waiting for him on the landing near her door. The dark frames of her glasses couldn’t even conceal the genuine worry in her eyes. “You’re soaked.” Gently she took him by the arm and led him into the flat before helping him out of his soggy coat. 

“I, uh, -” The words he’d planned on saying now seemed futile.

“Mary called earlier and told me everything.”

He watched her carefully as she avoided eye contact while setting his coat near the heating vent to dry.

He knew now that the reason for her worry went deeper than the fact that he was showing up at her flat in the middle of night without an explanation and thoroughly drenched.

She knew.

“I’m sorry.” The words came spilling out before he could think twice. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” she interrupted in a quiet voice as her eyes found his again. 

There was a pause as they studied each other across the room before Molly turned sharply and appeared to wipe at her eyes. “I’ll, um, put the kettle on and in the meantime you can take a hot shower and get into some dry clothes. I think I still have some of Tom’s old pyjamas that should fit you. I’ll lay them out for you.”

“Molly-”

“You know where the towels are-”

“Molly,” he repeated louder.

She spun around. “Hmm?”

“I…um, thank you. For this.”

She nodded nonchalantly before gently pushing him toward the bathroom. “Now go on then. I’ll let John and Mary know where you are so they don’t send out a search party. You can stay here tonight.”

Before she could walk away, Sherlock reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “I mean it. Thank you, Molly. You’ve helped me in more ways than you’ll ever know. I’m sorry for any worry I might have caused you.”

He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her temple. 

She sighed softly as he pulled away. 

“I wish I could somehow undo it all,” he said in a half whisper.

“You’re here, that’s what counts. You have friends that love you.” She reached up a hand to brush the wet curls off his forehead and smiled. “This is your second chance. Make the most of it, Sherlock.” 

“I will. I mean it.”

“Good. And _now_ …” She then proceeded to shove him into the bathroom with surprising forcefulness.

Later on, he found himself sharing the sofa with the sleeping pathologist. They’d watched rubbish late-night telly as they drank their tea. Somehow she’d ended up curled next to his leg and had fallen asleep. With careful movements so as not to wake her, he switched off the television before drawing his legs up on the couch so that he was laying right against her warm, small frame. She responded by wrapping her arm around his waist and pulling him in closer.

It was at that moment that he found himself doing what he thought he would never do again. He made a vow. To himself, to his friends, to his family, and most of all to Molly. A vow to be a better man, a better friend, a better partner. 

Because moments like these were too good to give up on.


	10. Your secret is safe with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sherlolly Week 2016.
> 
> The prompt for Day 2 Canon: The Abominable Bride.

“You knew this whole time then?”

Gone was the mustache and the short, shaggy wig. Also absent was the heavy purple robe. Instead, the woman who walked through the doorway wore a dark, fitted dress revealing a small waist and petite frame beneath. Her light brown hair was neatly pinned to the top of her head and a plainly adorned hat perched on top completing the rest of the simple ensemble. No disguises. No coverings.

“Ah, Hoop-” He stopped himself with a smile. “Forgive me, _Doctor_ Hooper. I’ve been expecting you. Please do have a seat.” He gestured towards one of the armchairs near the fire.

Dr. Hooper eyed him suspiciously before marching across the room and sitting in the offered seat.

“You’ve been expecting me?” She asked raising an eyebrow.

He followed her lead and sat in the chair opposite hers. “It seemed likely after our last meeting in the crypt. Two of your secrets were revealed to me that night. Naturally this would cause you some concern - having a stranger know things about yourself that you wish to conceal. You have come to discuss this with me.”

Dr. Hooper cleared her throat and looked down at the gloved hands resting in her lap. “How long have you known, well, that I’ve been masquerading as a man?” 

Sherlock smiled. “Since our first meeting in the morgue.”

She sighed, closing her eyes, and nodded. “I thought - I mean - I should have known that I couldn’t fool Sherlock Holmes. There have been times when I could see it in your eyes. And yet you’ve never mentioned it.”

“I’ve had no reason to. You’re extremely adept at your job, and your skills are equal to, or even exceed those of any man I’ve worked with.”

She took a deep breath. The hands in her lap tightened into fists. “Mr. Holmes, I’ve chosen to pursue this career by any means necessary. My situation is far from ideal, but it was the only choice I had. My work gives me the greatest joy I have ever known. I only ask that you-”

He raised a hand to stop her. “Your secret is safe with me, Dr. Hooper. I promise not to reveal it to another soul and I will ask Dr. Watson to do the same. You need not trouble yourself with worry on our account.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I know you have a duty to uphold the law and I appreciate your…silence.”

He stood and retrieved his pipe that rested on the mantle. “You are mistaken, Madam. I do not concern myself with upholding the law or determining the course of justice. I am only interested in the facts and sharing them with the parties concerned, or… _not_. Justice is a matter for the court of law to decide.”

She leaned back in her chair and relaxed her shoulders. “You surprise me, Sir. Then, as you are now aware of my other secret involvements, you know that I’ve done things that would not be favorable in a court of law.”

“How you choose to spend your leisure time is up to you, Doctor.” He lit his pipe and studied her intently. “I myself have not always done what might be considered lawful. On occasion I have done what I felt was right even though it might be contrary to general opinion. To judge you for what you have done would make me a hypocrite.”

“Well,” she said after considering his words, “I see you are full of your own set of secrets, Mr. Holmes.”

Then standing quickly, she removed her glove and defying the custom of the day offered him her hand. “Perhaps one day I will have the pleasure of finding them out for myself.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed gently before releasing it. “I look forward to it, Doctor. My door is always open for those who seek answers.”

She smiled and proceeded to depart. “I will call again. Goodnight, Mr. Holmes.”

He found himself staring at the fire long into the night until only the faint glow of embers remained. The trace of a smile still lingered on his lips as he reflected on the time spent with his visitor and the thought of seeing her again soon.


	11. The missing riding crop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sherlolly Week 2016.
> 
> The prompt for Day 3 Canon: Lab/Morgue Scene.

 

His riding crop was gone. 

Mr. O’Connor’s unfortunate stiff form still lay on the table untouched, or at least untouched since Sherlock had beaten it mercilessly. The greyish tinge of the skin on his chest revealed a faint trace of bruising beginning to form. The sight of it caused Sherlock to curse the other duties that called him away. Studying the corpse’s injuries would be far more entertaining than moving a pile of boxes across the city. 

Though he was already running late, the absence of his instrument curiously vexed him and he found himself unable to leave it alone. Thinking that it had only been misplaced, he began flinging open drawers hoping to locate it so he could be on his way.

The mortuary door suddenly swung open.

“Ah Molly, have you seen my riding crop? I left it right here on the table.” He pointed to the empty spot next to Mr. O'Connor.

Molly ignored him and looked around the room with a face of abhorrence. “ _Sherlock_. What happened in here?”

He repeated the question but then upon realizing her irritation was due to his own recklessness, hastily began shutting the drawers and returning the room to its rightful tidy state.

“So you decided to trash my morgue?” She sighed and proceeded to pull on a pair of rubber gloves. “I haven’t seen your riding crop. I was busy, remember? _Coffee_? Someone must have walked off with it, one of the lab assistants likely.”

Sherlock studied her carefully as she prepared to examine the corpse. She was clearly avoiding eye contact. Very un-like Molly. “Well if you hear anything would you let me know? I have an appointment to see a flat and I’m already late.”

Her mumbled response and distracted wave only furthered his suspicions.

“Don’t worry, Molly. I’ll get to the bottom of this mystery.”

At his clipped words, she finally looked up at him with a blank expression. Their stand-off continued until Sherlock’s mobile rang and forced him to move on at last. With a final farewell, he swept out the door with his coat billowing behind him.

“We’ll see about that,” Molly muttered under her breath and smiled at her own cleverness. "Won’t we, Mr. O'Connor.“ 

* * *

_**6 years later…** _

“Aha! Thief!” The sudden cry came from her bedroom jolting her awake before she could pour herself a cup of coffee.

He appeared in the kitchen a moment later with a towel wrapped around his waist and hair still dripping from the shower - and a riding crop in his hand.

“I _knew_ it was you,” he said smirking and waved the stick in her direction.

 _Damn_. She’d forgotten all about that bloody riding crop after stashing it in her closet years ago.

She decided to play it coy. “How do you know I have my own riding crop for, um, well… _riding_.”

He held it out to her and there on the end in silver embossment were the letters _SH_.

Molly couldn’t help but laugh and throw up her hands. “You would have it monogrammed, wouldn’t you?”

“You have to admit it helps in cases such as this,” he said with a teasing smile that he knew would only rile her up further.

With his confiscated possession back in hand, Sherlock headed back to the bedroom with a triumphant swagger in his step, but Molly was not about to let the topic go.

“What are you doing digging around in my closet anyways?” She asked leaning against the doorframe and watching as he pulled on his trousers.

“I was…looking for my shirt.”

“Nope. It was on the floor this morning. I know because I tripped over it. Try again.”

“Toby was-”

“No. He was in the kitchen with me.”

He huffed. “Fine. It was the last place I hadn’t checked. I knew it’s been in your flat this whole time because it wasn’t it your office -”

“My office?” She interrupted incredulously.

“Yes, that was the first place I checked, but of course that would’ve been to obvious, even for you, Molly.”

“So you’ve just been systematically going through my things all these years.”

“Only when I’ve stayed over. It’s not like I broke into your flat. You invited me in.”

Her eyes narrowed as she folded her arms. “Well I guess I did steal it. But you _did_ deserve it.”

He paused in the middle of buttoning his shirt leaving his neck and chest exposed - _and looking oh so tempting_. “How so?”

Molly scoffed. “Oh don’t tell me you don’t remember. _Coffee_? I asked you out with my dead former co-worker laying on the slab between us?”

Sherlock’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “That’s not how I remember it. I clearly remember you asking if I would like some coffee. And I accepted.”

“I wanted to get coffee _with you_ not _for you,_ you git _.”_

 _“_ Oh _.”  
_

In response, Molly leapt at him, knocking him backward onto the bed and pinned him with her legs. 

“For being such a genius, I can’t believe my boyfriend can be so dense,” she whispered sweetly into his ear as she began pressing kisses to the delicate skin of his neck that had practically begged for her touch. His moans in response let her know that he didn’t quite mind his current position.

“Molly,” he murmured wrapping his arms around her as she continued to kiss him.

“Hmm?”

“How about that coffee now?”

She raised her head and smiled mischievously. “Oh, I think it can wait a few more minutes.” 


	12. Old habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sherlolly Week 2016.
> 
> The prompt for Day 4 Canon: Favorite Molly Moment.

She always rambled when she was nervous. It was a bad habit, a sort-of tic that she’d always found hard to control. In their early years of working together, Sherlock had been the recipient of many of these one-sided and somewhat incoherent dialogues. Her feelings for him had always made her flustered. Somehow the not-knowing-what-to-say always turned into saying-whatever-came-to-mind-as-quickly-as-possible and she couldn’t stop until the embarrassment forced her to.

She had always known that Sherlock was the impatient sort and hard on anyone who wasted his time, but she had never felt it directed at herself. He never hesitated to lash out at Anderson or any of the lab techs. She’d even seen John leave the morgue in frustration a handful of times after bearing the brunt of Sherlock’s fury.

On occasion he could say something cutting if he became irritated about his experiments, but Sherlock had never called her nor had ever made her feel like an idiot. He always maintained a level of patience with her that she’d never noticed with anyone else and would even chat make casual conversation if the work wasn’t too involved.

It took time, but eventually she became comfortable enough with him that she didn’t get quite so nervous. The rose-coloured glasses had fallen off after she started to see his faults and she’d even called him out at Christmas for his behavior. Genius he might be, but he was as flawed as anyone. 

She still loved him, but she knew that it would never become anything more than a friendship. He would never see her in that way.

Until he did. _Possibly_. And then left for two years.

During that his absence, the doubts crept back in and she pushed away the thoughts about their relationship. She told herself she’d just been mistaken. He didn’t have feelings for her _surely_. She’d read him all wrong. He had just wanted her help.

She met Tom and life fell back into a rhythm.

Only to be disrupted once again by the return of Sherlock Holmes.

When she’d seen his reflection in the locker, she’d felt the nerves return. Perhaps it was because _he_ was different, changed from his time away.

He asked her to spend the day working along side him and she felt an undeniable thrill at the offer.

She knew she shouldn’t be having these feelings again. Not when she was engaged to another man.

But yet here in this stranger’s flat, after all this time, she once again found herself rambling to Sherlock. And about her fiance of all things. But he listened politely all the same.

_He’s nice. He’s got a dog. We - we go to the pub on weekends…I’ve met his mum and dad and his friends and all his family._

She cringed at herself.

_I have no idea why I’m telling you all of this._

But just when she thought she’d gone and made another fool of herself, Sherlock surprised her with his warmth. That kindness that lay buried deep beneath the gruff exterior. It wasn’t that she didn’t know it existed - he’d revealed to her in many of their moments alone - but it still took her by surprise. Then it was followed by a rare, genuine smile that lit up his whole face - as well as her heart.

The lingering kiss on the cheek only sealed her fate. She was not over him and likely never would be.

The question was - _would she ever do anything about it? Would he?_


	13. Anything feels like a love poem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sherlolly Week 2016.
> 
> The prompt for Day 7 Non-Canon: Free Choice
> 
> This was inspired by a poem titled “Love Poem Again” by Linda Pastan:
> 
> _there are times when_   
>  _anything feels_   
>  _like a love poem_
> 
> _standing on line at the the post office_   
>  _for instance_   
>  _waiting to lick_
> 
> _a stamp_   
>  _I will buy with_   
>  _the last loose_
> 
> _change in my pocket_   
>  _(my own dna_   
>  _anointing_
> 
> _the envelope)_   
>  _so I can send you_   
>  _this message_

She hesitates at the counter upon seeing a small stand next to the rack of gum and mints. It’s a display stuffed with touristy knick-knacks and postcards portraying various views of the Chicago skyline. Normally it’s something she would ignore but today a sudden idea sparks her to grab one the glossy cards with a particularly striking view of Lake Michigan and lay it next to the till along with her coffee and bagel.

She quickly pays, grabs her purchases, and heads out to enjoy the cool, but sunny morning before her class. After double checking the time and finding there is plenty to spare, she finds a quiet spot on a bench under a giant oak tree and eats her breakfast while pondering what she could possibly write to the man she loved on such a tiny rectangle of blank white space.

She’s currently one month into a four-month semester-long visiting professor position at the University of Chicago’s Department of Pathology. The busyness of starting a new job whilst learning to navigate a new city had caused all memories of London to be set aside as she's gotten used to her new life. But in the past few days she’s begun to feel her thoughts drifting back to home.

 _Molly Hooper:_ _Professor_. It was hard not to laugh whenever she says it out loud. Even more surprising than the title is the fact that she finds she quite likes teaching. Though she will always prefer research and working in a quiet lab to standing in front of a roomful of people, the idea of teaching a class or two upon returning to Barts now doesn’t fill her with a sense of dread like it once used to. The students are eager to learn and their enthusiasm helps remind her why she chose pathology in the first place.

But now by allowing herself to think of London, the homesick feeling she had first felt upon stepping foot in America returns with a sudden vengeance. She misses her cluttered flat with her overweight cat, who was no doubt growing larger by the day with all the treats that Meena kept on hand for him. She misses her usual coffee shop haunts and the familiarity of the Tube. She misses Barts with all its medieval charm. She misses her friends and coworkers.

She misses Sherlock.

The teaching position had been offered months in advance. She’d been debating the pros and cons of it when Moriarty's image had flashed on the television causing Sherlock's return soon from his short-lived exile with his mind dead set on finding whomever was behind the cyberattack. It'd felt like the sign she'd been looking for and she'd quickly accepted.

She'd told herself that she needed a change, a chance to reevaluate her life - from a safe distance away. Accepting a temporary position in a new country an ocean away seemed like a smart option.

Today though the distance feels doubled. The accents of the people talking on their phones as they walk by seem more foreign than usual. She aches for a cup of tea and a long chat with Meena that isn't conducted via phone or Skype. Seeing her friend’s face in pixelated form only reminds her how far away she was. She wants a hug and someone to tell her that everything will be okay.

She stares at the postcard in her hand for a minute before fishing a pen from her bag. 

Tapping it against her thigh, she frowns at the blank white square before sighing and writing down the first thing that comes to mind.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_Just a quick note to say I’m settled and enjoying my stay in Chicago though it seems a world away from London. I trust that you haven’t burned down my lab yet (unlike that time I went to a conference in Dublin). I haven’t seen seen anything on the news so it must be still standing. Hope you and the Watsons are well. I miss all of you._

She pauses and ponders how to sign her name before finally settling on:

_Your friend across the pond,_

_Molly_

With her pen paused in midair, she briefly considers scratching it out but decides with his keen eyes that will only make her uncertainty obvious.

She finishes by writing in his address and trying not to feel the pang in her chest at seeing 221B Baker Street spelled out in ink.

Without giving herself another moment to second guess her decisions, she downs the last of her coffee and marches straight to the campus post office to purchase a stamp and send the brief note on its long journey.

The next week passes uneventfully. She’s so busy that she doesn’t even remember the postcard until she checks the mailbox of her rented flat by chance one night and spies one lone item wedged inside. 

She reaches into the dark slot and, to her surprise, pulls out a postcard with a picture of Barts and its red phone booth printed on the front. Her heart begins to race as she turns it over and reads his familiar scrawl.

_Dear Molly,_

_Just to remind you what it looks like in case you’d forgotten._

_I assure you Barts is still standing and in good form. That one small fire (if you’d call it that) in the lab was nothing compared to what else this building has seen in the last 900 years._

_Making progress on case._

Her heart was now thudding as she read the final lines.

_London is its usual self, though it has felt your absence._

Was he talking about the city or himself?

_But I’m sure whatever London has lost Chicago has gained by having you as a temporary resident._

"Temporary" is underlined for emphasis.

_Yours,_

_Sherlock_

Yours. _Yours_. It's a typical enough sign-off though it seems strangely significant coming from him. She rereads the note until it's seared in her memory. 

It is only later that evening when she realizes she doesn’t know how he’s gotten her address. The only person she’s given it to is Meena. The thought of him contacting her best friend gives her an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. Besides for a few texts, she hasn’t talked to her friend in a few days but when they have their weekly Skype chat, Meena is sure to bring it up.

The postcard sits on her empty coffee table for the next few days as she wrestles with the idea of responding.

_Should she respond? Would it be weird? Would he even want more mail from her?_

He’s already surprised her by responding at all, and, not to mention, in such a quick manner. It's a sweet gesture, something she’s noticed him doing more since his return to London.

Rummaging through her bag, she finds a postcard she'd recently bought to send to her coworkers but instead addresses it again to Sherlock.

It's much the same as the first. A bit of teasing mixed in with her true feelings about being away from home. There's no use in lying, she knows he would be able to tell. She feels a sense of freedom in writing down the words and sharing things she wouldn’t normally if he was standing next to her. 

She sends the note off and to her delight finds a reply in the mailbox exactly a week later. This time it's a letter. He’s written several paragraphs mostly detailing the Moriarty impostor case, but reading between the lines she feels a sense that he misses her just as much.

Their correspondence continues for the remainder of her time in Chicago. She looks forward to his weekly letters so much that she finds herself counting down the days until the next. 

They never talk on the phone or text. Their only communication is through their written words. It feels old-fashioned, but yet she wouldn’t have it any other way. It's the intimacy she's craved all along.

By the time her final days in Chicago draw near, she has a stack of letters from Sherlock that don’t fit in her purse anymore. She's memorized them all, but there's no way she can let them go. When she's packing up her belongings, she has to carefully cram them into her suitcase to fit. She even donates some of her clothing to make room. It's worth it. 

Right before heading for the airport, she takes one final peek into the mailbox. Her heart races when she finds a letter inside that contains just one line.

_I’ll be waiting for you._

And when she arrives at Heathrow, he is. 

 


	14. Talk to me

_“It’s approximately 11:30. Slightly drizzling out. Cool, but not chilly...”_

He’d started leaving these messages on her phone a couple weeks ago - never really telling her what he was up to, just what the weather was like in London, or what small thing Mrs. Hudson had done that day to annoy him. She could’ve easily looked up the information on the weather app on her phone, which Sherlock obviously knew, but it was comforting to hear his voice no matter how seemingly insignificant (and they weren’t) the updates were.

They stayed in touch via the occasional phone call, though usually it was through these voice mails as one of the other of them was almost always busy (or not answering...).

She’d found out about the temporary residency so suddenly that there hadn’t been time for goodbyes. One minute she was accepting the position, the next she was throwing clothes at random into a suitcase and dashing off to catch a plane bound for Boston. 

Four months gone. Two months left.

It was the longest she’d ever been away from home, feeling longer by the day.

She stepped onto the small balcony of her flat. The leaves were just starting to turn golden - her favorite time of year to walk in the park near Barts during her lunch breaks. 

The experience she was receiving here was invaluable, probably in ways she didn’t even know yet, but...she missed home.

_Get it together, Molls._

She sighed, thinking about her cat, her job, her _friends_.

_Screw it._

She began thumbing through the contacts. Normally when she felt this homesick she’d call Meena or Mary who would put it on speaker so she could hear the baby.

Instead, tonight, her finger landed on another name. Her throat caught as she listened to it ring.

“ _Molly_.”

He’d answered on the first ring. It was one a.m. there now.

“You’re awake.”  A pause. She could hear him breathe in. “You sound so close, but yet...everything seems so far away.”

_“I’m here, Molly. Talk to me.”_

She wanted to pour out her heart, everything she’d been holding onto for months, but for now-

“It’s just past eight, there’s a breeze-” There was a soft noise, his lips -  _a smile_ she wondered. She felt her heart steady, her nerves calm. “And there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually didn't post this one to tumblr yet, but I was missing these two and this was the result.


	15. Not a complete idiot

“...you should’ve heard some of the crazy rumors going around,” Lestrade casually remarked as he put the cigarette and lighter back into his pocket.

Sherlock had just been about to turn and leave, but now his curiosity was piqued. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Anderson had this one that involved you on a bungee cord jumping off the building and crashing through a window.”

“Not very realistic.”

“And Molly was there-”

“Molly?” he blurt out without thinking. _How could Anderson know..._

“Yeah, and you know what he even had this whole idea about you shaking the glass out of your hair and kissing her like some sort of action movie,” Lestrade laughed and shook his head. “Can you imagine?”

_Perhaps he had underestimated Anderson’s abilities._

“No, I can’t imagine crashing through a window,” he said before walking away.

_The other part of his theory though..._

It turned out that Anderson was not a complete idiot after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going through my blog and found this old thing. ;)


End file.
